


Falling

by drpepperdiva91



Series: Light My Bones on Fire [2]
Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Drug Abuse, HIV/AIDS, Homophobia, M/M, Mycroft Being a Good Brother, Sherlock Being a Good Brother, but also weird, lestrade has his hands full, mycroft is not always an ice man, mystrade
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-10-25
Updated: 2015-04-11
Packaged: 2018-02-22 13:55:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 3
Words: 2,322
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2510177
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/drpepperdiva91/pseuds/drpepperdiva91
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Mystrade spinoff of my other fic, Crashing. Slow burn. Violence is likely. Cuddles are guaranteed.</p><p>Updates will be sometimes sporadic, sometimes overwhelmingly fast. Read the tags; they'll be edited as I go along. Warnings may change. Ratings may change. You've been warned.</p><p>*Update August 2015: Not abandoned, I'm just slow*</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Someone Concerned

**Author's Note:**

> This first chapter is brief. More to come, not sure when. If you haven't read Crashing, check it out, as this will follow that story line eventually. Can be read stand-alone if you prefer, however.

"Good evening, Detective. It appears that you have a Sherlock Holmes in your custody," Mycroft said, carefully keeping his tone flat and uninterested. 

"Who is this?" Lestrade countered, stepping out of his office and into the dim hallway to answer his mobile.

"Someone concerned for Mr. Holmes' welfare."

"I don't have time for this. Are you his brother? He said you'd 'be in touch,' and wouldn't give me your bloody number," Lestrade answered, quickly approaching the end of his rope. He'd been awake for 23 hours, 22 of them spent working, only to have a strung-out junkie apprehend a killer and perform a citizen's arrest. He still wasn't sure if the kid had been correct with his slurred "deductions," or if he'd just been as lucky as he was high. He was trying to look through the file and evidence to check, but it was a little difficult to work with an addict vomiting into a bin in your office.

"Ah, yes. I'll be arriving to collect him momentarily."

"You can clean out the back of my car while you're at it."

"Leave it at the Yard tonight. I'll have it detailed and send a car for you. To express my gratitude for not arresting him. The paperwork is so tedious."

"You'll... you'll what? Who are you?"

"I'm Mycroft Holmes, Detective Inspector. I have resources. It's best you keep that in mind."

"You're not intimidating, you know."

"Good. Easily intimidated people never fare well with Sherlock," Mycroft said, before letting the line go dead.

Lestrade braved a glance through the window to his office, where Sherlock was curled up on the couch, pale and shivering, mumbling to himself.  _What in the world have I gotten myself into?_


	2. Hold Off the Wolves

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Did I mention the timeline will be non-congruent? Sherlock and Mycroft talk about being gay in the 80's, and Mycroft's choice not to come out.
> 
> It's 1987.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We're taking it back a couple decades with this one. Focusing in on Mycroft, and another one of the reasons why he is the way he is. Pre-Lestrade, but something that plays a very important role in Mycroft's relationships, and will play a role in how he interacts with Lestrade later. 
> 
> TW: Some talk about HIV/AIDS here, folks. More talk about homophobia, as it 'twas in the 1980's.

It was 1987. Eleven-year-old Sherlock stood in front of the telly with an eighteen-year-old Mycroft, who was leaving in a few months for university. Two people on the screen debated the safety of Princess Diana's most recent trip to Middlesex Hospital, where there was now a wing open for those with AIDS. A picture of her shaking hands with one of the patients, which had already been circulated in the newspapers, was briefly on the screen.

"Myco?" Sherlock asked, trying to get his brother's attention from a height somewhere between Mycroft's elbow and shoulder.

"Sherlock."

"I know you like boys, Myco. And they're wrong," he gestured vaguely towards the television, "They're wrong about it all. You're not  _unnatural_. And nobody _deserves_ to die like that, all alone and skeletal. People are pig-headed morons."

Mycroft pressed his lips into a thin line, and turned slightly from the flicker and glow of the telly to assess his younger brother.  _The world is going to eat you alive, little one. I can only hold off the wolves for so long._

"I don't like anyone, Sherlock," was his flat reply, which did little to dissuade Sherlock from continuing the conversation.

"You do, though. You like Thomas, and you can hide it well enough that the idiots can't see it. But I  _know_ you like him. Don't _lie_ to me, Myco. Mummy says we musn't lie. It upsets her."

"Lots of things upset Mummy."

"You're deflecting, Mycroft."

"And you're intent on bickering, Sherlock."

"I'm not  _bickering!_ I'm trying to tell you something, because you act like you don't know."

"Alright then, Mr. I'm-Eleven-And-I-Can-Solve-All-The-World's-Ills. What don't I know?" Mycroft asked, inwardly dreading where he thought this was going.

"You don't know it's okay to like boys, Myco. You think it makes you less. Makes you 'dirty' like Mummy's friends talk about at the dinner parties. I don't know why you listen to them, Myco. It doesn't mean you're going to die of some 'gay disease.' They're stupid," Sherlock said, his young eyes bright and earnest, searching Mycroft's face to see if he understood.

Mycroft, surprised as he ever was when suddenly assaulted with Sherlock's sudden and infrequent bursts of affection, furrowed his brow and pressed his lips into an even thinner line. 

"Sherlock... come sit with me, here," Mycroft said, taking a seat on the sofa and patting the place next to him. "I didn't really want to have this conversation with you this soon," he started, more to himself than to Sherlock. 

"I know that it's okay to like boys, Sher. And I know I'm not going to contract HIV simply by being homosexual, or holding hands with a boy, or any of that nonsense. I know you're trying to look out for me, but it's more complicated than that."

"It's only complicated because a bunch of people want it to be. If they would get their heads out of their arses-"

" _Sherlock, language._ "

"Sorry."

"We know it's okay. But the rest of the goldfish in the world haven't quite caught up to us yet, dear boy. And as it is, it's a bit dangerous to be openly homosexual right now. I know you read the newspaper. You know what's going on."

"But not everyone thinks-"

"I  _know_ , Sher, it's not everyone. But it doesn't have to be  _everyone_ for it to be dangerous, just  _most everyone_. I'm starting at university soon; this is the beginning of my career. I can't afford to get a bad public reputation." _  
_

"A bad reputation? Being who you are is a bad thing now? You and Mummy, always telling me how important it is to be myself, when both of you hide who you are from everyone around you. You're hypocrites! Both of you!" Sherlock exclaimed, standing up once more. Mycroft stayed in his seat, far better at controlling his temper than his younger counterpart.

"Sherlock, there are some things you are going to have to understand, if you insist on throwing yourself into the adult world before you're old enough. One of those things is that it's perfectly fine to  _be_ who you are, but it isn't always safe to let everyone  _know_ who you are. In real life, we play our cards close to our chest. What would happen if I told Thomas how I felt? If he felt the same? Would we walk down the street, holding hands, happily ever after? No, Sherlock. We would get two blocks away before we got mugged. We would get thrown out of restaurants. We would get hurt. We would be ostracized, and he would be disowned. Lord only knows if we would be able to get jobs. I'm not being a  _hypocrite_ , Sherlock. I am protecting myself the only way I know how," Mycroft spat the last two sentences with far more malice than he originally intended. He looked up, noticing that Sherlock had sat back down on the sofa next to him, and had placed a hand on his shoulder, his eyes a little less bright and a little more sad.

"I'm sorry, Myco, I didn't-"

"No, Sher, it's not your-"

The spoke over each other, haltingly, and neither finished their sentences. Mycroft, feeling defeated in the face of Sherlock's slowly withering innocence, sighed heavily and rested his head in his palms, elbows on his knees. He felt Sherlock's lithe form squirm closer to him before wrapping his arms around Mycroft's middle, and pressing his face into his older brother's shoulder. A stray curl tickled Mycroft's neck, right above his collar.

"It's okay, Myco. It's okay to not like anyone. You don't have to. I won't tell anyone any different."

Mycroft nodded, but didn't remove his hands from his face. He mumbled something he hoped sounded like assent, which made Sherlock squeeze him tighter for a moment.

"I love you, Myco. And you love me back. And that's all we need anyway."

Sherlock seemed to have no problem holding on to Mycroft for the next twenty minutes while he tried to get his emotions under control. Mycroft hoped that his eyes were no longer red when he finally did make eye contact with his brother, but if they were, nobody made any mention of it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Leave me comments; I'd love to hear from you. I've gone for realistic, not politically correct. Inevitably, some people will probably say "Oh, but it wasn't that bad, not in 87!" But no, it actually was. And remember, not everything Mycroft and Sherlock think or say or do is going to be right or politically correct; this is how they're perceiving the world right now.
> 
> As always- I will eventually answer every comment. I've got a bit of a back log of them right now, but I'll get to every single one. I promise. I read all of them, as soon as they get to my email. It means the world to me to hear from you.


	3. Not Your Damsel in Distress

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Lestrade does not need a knight, and Mycroft takes off his armor.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I tried to proofread, but might have failed. Keep your expectations low. Tell me if there are any glaring spelling/grammar issues and I'll fix them. My sincerest apologies and thanks!

Two years after he first stumbled into Sherlock during a murder investigation, Greg Lestrade had to admit, the kid was pretty good, when he was clean. After getting released from whatever up-and-coming rehab center his posh git of a brother had sent him to the night they first met, he had been solving a couple cases a month, and Greg was headed for a promotion largely because of his work.

If Greg was going to be honest with himself, he had to admit that working cases with Sherlock was beginning to be the highlight of his long hours at the Yard. It wasn't that the bloke was particularly endearing. In fact, he was a right arse most of the time. He wore insults and designer clothes the way soldiers wear bullet proof vests, but that wasn't fooling Greg for one minute. Sherlock was brilliant, and Greg simply enjoyed watching the kid's mind work, even if he spoke a mile-a-minute and told him he was a useless idiot. In a way, his abrasive personality was part of his charm.

Unfortunately, Mycroft Holmes was another story entirely. Mycroft had popped up occasionally since Sherlock started working on cases, and it appeared to Greg that his greatest talent was using kind words and pleasantries as a knife. He certainly cared about Sherlock, and was maybe a tad more protective than was strictly necessary, but was not exactly the type of company that Greg wished to keep. Which was why, at the end of a very trying week that included 65 hours at the office, a blistering fight with his wife, and confirmed progression of his father's colon cancer, the last person he wished to see on the other side of his desk was the eldest Holmes brother.

Their conversations, until this point, had circulated largely around the status of Sherlock's sobriety- and on occasion, lack thereof. Now, though, Mycroft appeared to be waiting for Greg to start the conversation. Which, Greg thought, was odd, considering Mycroft was the one who had invited himself into Greg's office at 9:30pm on a Friday.

"Do you need something, Mycroft?" Greg ventured, mildly interested by the visit but entirely too exhausted to put much effort into the conversation. He glanced up from his computer screen for a moment, scrubbing a hand over his face.

"Sherlock is worried about you," Mycroft answered, fully shocking Greg for a beat. He recovered quickly.

"Oh, am I corpse already? Who was it, my wife? Hope I stained her carpet, at least."

Mycroft gave him the barest hint of a smile, just slightly quirking the corner of his lips.

"He says your father is dying and your wife is leaving you. It looks to me like he's right," Mycroft continued, glancing around Greg's office. Greg sighed, feeling the weariness settle into his bones.

"The concept of 'tact' is lost of the both of you. I'd hate to meet your father."

"Yes, you would. He was a rather indelicate man."

Greg looked back up at that, examining Mycroft closer, still not quite understanding the purpose of the conversation.

"Why are you here, Mycroft? Other than to shove my problems back in my face after I've been on the clock since 5am?"

"As I said, Sherlock is worried about you. By extension, I am as well." 

At that, Greg chuckled sardonically, cupping his forehead in his palms. He addressed the desk with his next words. His ability to keep up pretenses was swiftly dwindling.

"That still doesn't tell me why you're here. I'm tired, and I'm trying to finish this report before I figure out where I'm sleeping tonight. I don't have time for your stupid games right now, Mycroft. Spit it out or leave."

Mycroft let out a slight huff of air that betrayed what Greg had been hoping for- he wasn't expecting to be thrown out quite so soon. Instead of turning on his heel, as Greg expected him to, he took a seat, and tapped his umbrella sharply on the floor between his feet as he sat.

"You've been very helpful to my brother, and to myself in that regard. I appreciate it. You know how... important Sherlock is to me, despite our feud. I came to offer my assistance to you, in return."

Greg continued to stare at the desk, unbelieving that he had somehow moved a Holmes to express sentiment simply by having a shit week. He knew better.

"To offer your assistance. Right. What would that be, then? Wave your magic government wand and annul my marriage? Pay off the mortgage I'm neck-deep in? Find a cure for colon cancer? Which trick will it be today, Mycroft? Because honestly, I've seen enough of the tricks you've pulled on Sherlock recently to want any part in that mess. One favor from you, and I'm stuck. You're the government. I know better." Greg bit out the end, remembering the bugs he and Sherlock picked out of Sherlock's flat the other day. 

_"Fool me twice, shame on me," Sherlock had said. Greg, curious, asked why. "When you ask him for help, it's always more than you think. He thinks he owns me now. I should have known better, this time. Always something."_

"Don't lash out at the only person trying to help you, Greg. It's unbecoming."

"Don't play the victim just because you can't swoop in at the last minute and save the day. I'm not your damsel in distress. Neither is Sherlock, for that matter."

Mycroft stood, and turned for the door, disappointed with how he managed the conversation. His suit coat felt like it weighed more heavily on his shoulders now than when he had walked in. He paused, before walking away. Quietly, he said, "You have my mobile number if you need it; it's the private line. I'm not here as the government, Detective. I'm here as your friend. Neither of us have very many of those. Call me, if you find you need one."

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well... I have a huge number of exams to study for, which means I'm baaaaack and ready to procrastinate! 
> 
> My Mycroft here is trying to come out of his shell a bit, so it might seem out of character... he feels that way too. But he wants to do what's right by this man that has done so much for his Sherlock, he's just not quite sure how to do that while still keeping everything very tight-upper-lip-British-man. Don't forget, this is still Mycroft and Greg at a couple years before we meet them in the BBC cannon. There's a tid bit of character development that will go on between now and then.
> 
> Anyhoo, please leave me comments. I love every single one of them, and will get back to you.


End file.
